


Cold lips and limbs to fire

by roxaneros



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Academy Era, Anal Fingering, Friends With Benefits, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Pre-Relationship, Religious Guilt, Under-negotiated Kink, the horrific possibility of ghosts watching you get off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:40:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28923711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roxaneros/pseuds/roxaneros
Summary: Dimitri needs a way to release the pressure. Sylvain offers to help.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 5
Kudos: 77





	Cold lips and limbs to fire

“What do you mean ‘confiscating’ it?” 

Dimitri yanks the book out of Sylvain’s hand. Sylvain gives him an exaggerated frown. 

“Just be thankful that I’m not reporting this to the professor,” Dimitri says evenly. He is so unflappable. His uniform is always neat, his manners are always perfect, and his grasp of the church’s frankly totalitarian rules is unparalleled.

“I just bought it,” Sylvain sighs. “How do you know it's forbidden material anyways, Your Highness? Goddess knows, you haven’t read it.” 

“Of course not,” Dimitri says sharply. “I looked over your shoulder and saw enough to know that if Seteth found you with this, you would have latrine duty for the rest of the month.” 

“Oh, so you were reading my book?” Sylvain asks with a smirk. And there, that’s what he wanted. There is just the tiniest hint of a flush in Dimitri’s cheeks. Just a crack in the veneer of that oh-so-perfect façade. 

“As your house leader, I am responsible for ensuring that you do not violate the school code,” Dimitri says, tucking the book beneath his arm. “And as your future king, I must prevent the future Margrave Gautier from disgracing himself with a book of… erotic woodblock prints.” 

Sylvain grins at him. 

“Enjoy it,” he calls after Dimitri who is quickly retreating. “Check out page seventeen for something you’ve never seen before.” 

***

By Guardian Moon, everyone can tell that something is off with Dimitri. He’s late, for one thing. He arrives at morning classes after the chime of the bells, strangely rumpled and often shivering despite the relatively mild cold of Garreg Mach compared to the Kingdom.

He leaves a brawling practice suddenly, claiming a muscle cramp, and never returns. While he used to join the rest of them in the sauna to relax after a long training session, he now vanishes back to his room as soon as he’s finished. 

“What did you do to the boar?” Felix snarls at Sylvain one day. 

“Me?” Sylvain asks indignantly. 

“He’s up half of the night, muttering about you,” Felix says icily. “See to it.” 

Sylvain watches Felix leave, feeling mildly stunned. Although, he realizes, Dimitri does seem to be avoiding him. 

He pairs up with Ingrid at practice. He feeds in the evenings, while Sylvain is usually at the barn in the mornings. In class, if Sylvain answers a question, Dimitri keeps his eyes firmly fixed on Byleth. 

Clearly, Sylvain thinks, he’s done something to earn the prince’s scorn. Given his reputation, he’s not even sure what it is. 

But towards the end of Guardian Moon, Sylvain can see that Dimitri is going to crack up soon if he doesn’t do something. He walks around with shadows under his eyes so dark that Sylvain wonders if he’s been in a fistfight and he jumps so badly when Mercedes brushes his arm that he shatters the cup in front of him with a resounding crack. 

One night, Sylvain finds him at the training grounds. It is far too late to be practicing. Sylvain, in fact, is on the way back from a tavern, the red imprint of a slap still smarting on his face from yet another parting of ways. 

But Dimitri is there, determinedly hacking away at a practice dummy. Sylvain watches from the doorway for a minute and he sees Dimitri swaying with exhaustion. As he raises his lance, Sylvain watches as one knee buckles and he actually slumps to the ground. 

“Hey,” Sylvain calls out, jogging over to help the prince to his feet. “You alright?” 

Dimitri looks up at him dully. He looks tired. That neat blonde hair is sticking to his face, tousled and sweaty. There is something strangely defeated in his expression as Sylvain steadies him. 

“Can’t sleep,” he finally admits. 

“Trying to tire yourself out then?” Sylvain asks. 

Dimitri nods wordlessly. 

“Come on,” Sylvain says firmly. “You’re plenty tired. You need to relax.”

It is a sign of how exhausted he is that Dimitri does not protest when Sylvain leads him from the training grounds and up to the sauna and bathhouse. It’s so late that no one is there. The fires are cold for the night, but Sylvain lights one with a bit of magic he’s been learning on the side and starts to heat up a room for Dimitri. 

Dimitri sits on the bench, still in his sweat soaked training clothes and gauntlets. 

“You want to take those off?” Sylvian asks. 

“My grip without them is… unstable,” Dimitri replies dully, but he does take them off. It is easy to forget, Sylvain thinks with an uncomfortable jolt, about the scars. Dimitri keeps himself so covered up normally, you can almost imagine that his skin underneath is the same rosy color and not streaked with burns and twisted white slashes. 

The room begins to warm and Sylvain sits down on the bench beside Dimitri with a sigh. Steam rises from the rocks on the fire and begins to penetrate through the bitter winter chill. 

“Alright, Your Highness, that better?” Sylvain says, raising an eyebrow. “You’re still a little, uh, tense.” 

Tense is an understatement. Dimitri looks as rigid and uncomfortable as an iron lance. He clears his throat once. Then he lowers his head into his hands and finally speaks. 

“Your book,” he says tightly, voice slightly muffled by his palms.

“My book?” Sylvain asks, mystified. 

“With the prints,” Dimitri adds with a sigh. “It has… infected me.” 

Sylvain resists the urge to wheeze with laughter as it seems suddenly inappropriate. 

“Oh,” Sylvain says instead. “Uh, glad you liked it then?” 

“My mind can’t focus,” Dimitri growls. “I wake up in the morning, unable to leave my room without opening the window and standing in the cold for ten minutes.” 

Sylvain finally begins to understand. 

“Goddess above, Dimitri, just rub one out already!” Sylvain exclaims. “Seteth isn’t going to send you down to the eternal flames just for touching yourself in your room every now and then! Everyone does it! Everyone!” 

“Just because you-” 

“Seriously,” Sylvain snorts. “I knew you could be a stubborn, but sweet holy Sothis, lower yourself to the level of us mere mortals occasionally. You think Ashe is reading those ‘chivalric romances’ just for the plot? You think Felix is stomping off after he wins a sparring session with that gleam in his eye just to take a  _ nap _ ?” 

Dimitri falls silent at that. His face is slowly turning from pale with lack of sleep to bright red. 

“I don’t…” he finally begins and then seems to choke on the words. “I can’t.” 

Sylvain stares at him in blank incomprehension. 

“You can’t,” he repeats.    


“I’ve never tried,” Dimitri says fiercely. “Because with my hands being the way that they are, I don’t know if I might…” 

He makes a sort of strange motion of clenching one of his fists. 

The realization suddenly breaks over Sylvain like an ocean wave abruptly crashing over his head. 

“Oh shit,” he simply says. 

Dimitri nods slowly. 

“Right,” he agrees. 

Sylvain looks him over. He’s stopped shivering at least. The steam from the fire is beginning to dampen his already sweaty hair again, causing it to drip slightly onto his nose. Dimitri keeps his eyes on the floor, jaw tight and fists quivering slightly on his knees. 

The situation is both incredibly funny and deeply unfunny. There is something absurd about the prince, usually so carefully controlled, rendered powerless before his base urges, and there is also something that makes Sylvain’s gut twist with guilt and sadness to see Dimitri so defeated. 

“I could…” Sylvain begins, unsure if he is actually going to say this until the words fall out of his mouth. “Help?” 

Dimitri finally turns to glare at him. 

“You’ve done enough to rob me of my dignity,” he says sharply. 

“I mean, just, to relieve the pressure,” Sylvain adds. “It wouldn’t be weird. Just a bit of help.” 

“Help,” Dimitri repeats. He looks down for a second between his legs, and then flushes even redder and averts his eyes. 

“Look, I’ll feel bad if I don’t now,” Sylvain justifies. “I didn’t realize with your strength being what it is, how pent up you’d get over this. If nothing else, we need this to keep you sharp on the battlefield. Consider it my penance.” 

Dimitri does not reply, but he shifts slightly on the bench. Sylvain lays a tentative hand on his shoulder. Dimitri tenses, but he doesn’t pull back. 

Then slowly, he spreads his legs a little. Sylvain almost cannot believe it. This is Dimitri. This is always proper, always exemplary, prince of his damned nation, Dimitri. And Sylvain is about to jack him off in the sauna. 

“Okay,” Dimitri finally whispers. He closes his eyes. 

Sylvain scoots closer beside him, then slowly brings his hand down to rest on Dimitri’s thigh. Dimitri sighs slightly and moves his hips a bit. He’s jumpy. 

“Just relax,” Sylvain reminds him. “Take a few breaths. This is supposed to feel kinda nice. Like a… massage, I guess.” 

Sylvain lets his hand stray to the inside of Dimitri’s thigh. A muscle there is twitching slightly. Finally, Sylvain reached up to cup Dimitri’s crotch. He’s already firming up, Sylvain realizes with awe. And he’s huge. 

Dimitri makes a slight noise in the back of his throat. His eyes are still squeezed shut. 

Sylvain unlaced his trousers clumsily and pulls out his cock. It’s thick and heavy in his hand. It shouldn’t be unfamiliar given how many times Sylvain has done this to himself, and yet it feels that way. 

He begins to stroke gently, hoping not to go too hard too fast. Dimitri immediately gasps and bucks his hips up and into Sylvain’s touch. Sylvain grabs more of Dimitri’s length, pumping it a few times until it is fully hard. Dimitri responds by panting and arching his back nearly off of the bench. 

“Sylvain,” he manages to plead. 

“It feels better usually, if you take it slow and-” Sylvain begins but Dimitri starts to frantically grind into his palm. He’s biting his bottom lip and his eyes are squeezed tightly closed and his face is perfectly pink and dripping with sweat. 

Sylvain cannot resist. He reaches down to pull gently on Dimitri’s balls and then pumps vigorously at his cock, twisting his hand slightly. 

Instantly, Dimitri’s body jerks up, and Sylvain feels something hot spurting into his hand as Dimitri whimpers and cries out through his orgasm. 

And then that’s it. Sylvain has spend cooling on his hand. Steam is filling the room around him. Dimitri breathes heavily for a few seconds and then slumps back. He looks completely boneless suddenly, like he might just pass out on the bench. But at the corner of his lips, Sylvain spots a faint relieved smile. 

And Sylvain realizes that he is in terrible trouble and all of this was a huge mistake. 

“Come on, Your Highness,” he says, shoving that panic down for later. “Let’s get you back to your room before you fall asleep.” 

Dimitri murmurs a slight assent and allows Sylvain to hoist him to his feet and tuck him back into his trousers. 

Once Dimitri is back in his bed and sleeping the heavy, intense sleep of the severely deprived, Sylvain lies back on his own bed. The image of that face, the little round circle of his mouth as Sylvain had grabbed him, the sound of his deep voice pitching suddenly higher… 

Sylvain slips his hand under his own nightshirt. Damn him. He always gets himself into trouble like this. 

***

The last thing that Sylvain expects is for this mutually mortifying event to become… an arrangement. A standing sort of appointment between them. 

It never stops setting his heart to pounding. Sometimes when Sylvian is getting back to his dorm room late, certain that everyone else is too asleep to catch him after curfew, Dimitri will appear at his door. 

“I need help,” he usually says. In fact, that’s all he usually says. He stays totally silent when Sylvain pats the bed beside him and then helps to unlace his pants. It usually doesn’t take long, maybe a few minutes, before he comes into Sylvain’s hand. 

Afterwards, Dimitri goes to bed. He always seems better rested the morning after. Unlike Sylvain, who usually stays up another half hour later, desperately jerking off to the memory. 

But that is the situation. For a full month, Sylvain silently touches his prince’s cock in his dormitory once a week, and then they go about their business as usual. At first, Sylvian is paranoid that Dimitri will treat him differently, but if anything, he seems too distracted during the day to say much to him. Ever since the Remire village incident, something has been weighing on Dimitri, it seems. 

And there is nothing Sylvain can do about it save to help him release a little frustration every now and then. 

By the beginning of Pegasus Moon, it is obvious that something is wrong. The walls of the dormitories are thick stone, but even with that, Sylvian can sometimes hear the nightmares through his wall. 

After one, Sylvain gets a knock on his door and there is Dimitri, wild-eyed and half-dressed. 

“I need help,” he says, voice trembling. 

“Okay,” Sylvain says, untangling himself from his own blankets. 

It is different, Sylvian can immediately tell. Dimitri is wearing a nightshirt instead of his uniform and Sylvain pulls it up to expose his bare thighs as well as his dick. And he doesn’t get hard so quickly either. 

Sylvian works at him slowly and Dimitri leans back against him, a gesture somehow more intimate than Sylvain’s hand wrapped around him. Sylvain can feel his rapid heartbeat fluttering through the thin fabric of his shirt. 

“It’s alright,” Sylvain whispers in his ear. “Just calm down. Focus on your body.” 

Dimitri makes a small cry in the back of his throat and leans back harder. Sylvain feels him beginning to stir and soon enough there is precum beading at his slit. Sylvain takes his time, massaging it slowly down over Dimitri’s shaft, teasing at his balls, stroking slowly and methodically. 

“Forgive me,” Dimitri suddenly murmurs, voice high and desperate. “Forgive me, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” 

“There’s no problem,” Sylvain begins, but then realizes that Dimitri doesn’t seem to be talking to him. Maybe he’s praying, although his words don’t sound quite like a prayer. 

“Don’t watch, please,” Dimitri begs through his teeth. “Don’t watch this, I’m sorry.” 

Sylvian has no idea what to do, and so he wraps one arm around Dimitri’s chest as his other reaches around to pump at Dimitri’s cock. He finishes with a strangled sound, legs shaking and head tipped back into Sylvain’s shoulder. 

After a few seconds of silence and heavy breathing, the moment sours. 

“Is this still okay?” Sylvain asks, uncertain what just happened. 

“Thank you for the assistance,” Dimitri replies, getting up and turning away from Sylvian. “I apologize for my behavior.” 

“Hey, Dimitri,” Sylvain says with alarm as Dimitri stumbles out of his room and slams his own door loud enough that Felix is probably awoken. Sylvain is left in his room alone, a single candle lit, hand sticky, and with his own unfortunate situation to take care of between his legs. 

***

By the start of Lone Moon, things are beginning to make sense. Sylvain was there in the Holy Tomb and he had a first hand view of how wrong he has always been about Dimitri. It is no longer even a little bit amusing to think about getting the prince riled up. 

Sylvain watched him crush an Imperial soldier's head with one hand and he thought with horror that  _ this _ is the creature who he has been teasing, who he has brought into his bed. The strength that Dimitri possesses is no longer the fodder for jokes and jabs. It is terrifying. 

Dimitri is terrifying. 

In the weeks afterwards, as the monastery prepares for war, Sylvain watches the entire continent rapidly accelerating towards its own destruction. His father writes, summoning him home as soon as the roads are clear to ride. 

All of those little matters of life that had seemed so important, dates and dinners, exams and stable duty, all of it seems so small and pointless because Edelgard has started a war. A real actual war where bodies will pile high and his classmates will kill each other on the grounds of the monastery where they had become friends. 

Sylvain thinks of Dorothea, who once turned down his dinner invitation, and he shivers and he shivers. 

Annette starts crying in the middle of class when Byleth starts instructing them on the monastery’s defensive artillery, and Mercedes has to take her outside to recover. Ingrid sits with a letter from her father in her lap, tearing it into tiny shreds methodically for nearly ten minutes. 

Felix cannot even be in the same room as Dimitri anymore and Dedue looks worried despite his stoic exterior. Sylvian knows that he’s been forcing Dimitri to eat, reminding him to sleep, dragging him through those final weeks before the battle. Because Dimitri is not upset or frightened. He is elated. 

What can he do, Sylvain wonders desperately, when it’s all falling apart like this? What has he ever been good for? Without a sword to throw himself in front of, how can he fix anything?

On the evening after a Church scout sights Edelgard’s army a day’s march from the monastery, Sylvain goes to Dimitri’s room late. He knocks on the door. 

Dimitri is awake, of course. He looks so disconcertingly fine. Better than usual, even. He looks happy. 

“What do you need Sylvian?” he asks, sounding as precise and focused as he once did. Behind him, Sylvain spots maps of the local terrain on his desk. He is planning his maneuvers. 

“I just came to check in on a friend,” Sylvain smiles back. If there is one area where he can match Dimitri in skill, it is smiling despite everything. “How are you?” 

“I am well,” Dimitri says with a polite incline of his head. “Very well.” 

“Good to hear,” Sylvian says, putting his hands in his pockets and nodding. 

“Is there anything else I can do for you Sylvian?” Dimitri asks when Sylvain does not leave. 

“I was going to ask the same,” Sylvian replies. 

Dimitri looks at him for a moment carefully, guarded. 

“Night before a battle, you know,” Sylvain adds, “don’t want to die with any regrets.” 

Dimitri narrows his eyes, icy blue and deadly in their conviction. 

Then he reaches out and yanks Sylvain into his room, the door snapping shut behind him. Wordless, he yanks his trousers down to his knees and Sylvain feels a slight shiver run through his body as Dimitri forces him down to the floor with a hand knotted in his hair. 

“Guess that book put all kinds of ideas in your head,” Sylvain mutters with a smirk before he opens his mouth to suckle at the tip of Dimitri’s cock. 

He licks gently at the head, teasing and light as he hears Dimitri moan at the sensation. Then Dimitri bucks his hips forward, hand still pulling unforgivingly on Sylvain’s hair, so that his cock slides deeper into Sylvain’s mouth. 

Sylvain breathes through his nose, struggling not to choke. Saliva is running down his chin as Dimitri jerks forward with every lick or suck of Sylvain’s lips. Sylvain raises his hands to Dimitri’s legs and pushes back against his thighs to regain some modicum of control. 

“Oh,” Dimitri gasps as Sylvian sucks at him hard and digs his nails deep into Dimitri’s skin. Suddenly, his voice sounds vulnerable again. 

He releases his hand in Sylvain’s hair, which Sylvain is only a tiny bit disappointed by, and leans back against the wall. Sylvian lets his cock slide out of his mouth, spit dripping from the tip of it. 

“I-” Dimitri begins, his chest heaving. “I’m sorry, I didn’t, I-” 

“It’s fine,” Sylvain says with a smirk, even as he struggles to catch his breath. “I was into it.” 

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Dimitri says frantically, “I didn’t mean to hurt you, I’m so-” 

“Knock it off,” Sylvain says, wiping his mouth, “seriously.” 

“This isn’t… what is this?” Dimitri finally asks. It’s not the best time, Sylvain thinks, to be interrogating this aspect of their friendship when Dimitri’s cock is still shining wet with his spit. “What am I doing?” 

“We’re messing around,” Sylvain reassures him, “it doesn’t have to be more than that. I’m here to help, if you want to try anything else out before we fight in a damned war.” 

Dimitri runs a hand through his hair, ruffling the cropped blonde strands so that they fall into his eyes. 

“It is wrong,” Dimitri finally mumbles. 

“Don’t really care about that,” Sylvain laughs darkly. “Let me help you out. I  _ need _ to do something to help.” 

Dimitri’s expression crumples and, for one terrible moment, Sylvian thinks he might cry. 

“I just…” his words come out thick and uneven. “Something is wrong with me. And I don’t know what will help anymore.” 

Sylvian gets the sense that Dimitri is done setting the pace. 

He gets back to his feet, leads Dimitri to his bed and helps him to slip out of his uniform. There are scars across his arms and back, some old, a few recent wounds half-healed from their battle in the tomb. Sylvain traces them carefully with his fingers. 

He lays Dimitri down on his stomach with a pillow under his hips. 

“Just relax,” he says gently as he parts Dimitri’s legs and uncaps some of the sword polish from one of Dimitri’s drawers. He’s done this to himself a few times. He’s never tried it on anyone else. 

Dimitri jumps when Sylvain’s finger circles his rim. He makes no sound when Sylvian puts a finger instead of him, although it must burn. Sylvain goes slowly, giving him time to adjust to the sensation. 

When Sylvaian crooks his finger and begins to rub, Dimitri gasps into the pillow beneath his head. He hisses and tenses as Sylvain keeps going, relentlessly building a rhythm against the gland there. 

Dimitri squirms down into the pillow, starting to rub himself off against it. 

“You're doing so good,” Sylvain reassures him and Dimitri replies with a wet, shuddering gasp. 

“Mmm,” he manages to reply as Sylvain keeps going, increasing the pressure of his finger. “Ah, it feels like, aah, it’s different.” 

“That’s okay,” Sylvain says gently. “Just let it build.” 

A few minutes later Dimitri begins to grind down against the pillow in earnest. 

“Getting wet,” he manages to pant. 

“Good,” Sylvain whispers back. “Perfect.” 

He lets his fingers trace up the curve of Dimitri’s ass to the small of his back, up to his shoulder blades. He is shaking, Sylvain feels, all over now. The puckered skin of his scars catches against the pad of Sylvain’s thumb. 

“Sylvain,” Dimitri makes a desperate sound into the pillow. “Sylvain, I never meant to do this to you, I never wanted to mess this up, I-” 

“Shh,” Sylvain says, unwilling to hear it. “It’s okay. It’s all okay.” 

When Dimitri comes, it seems to last an age. He is spread and thrashing on Sylvain’s finger as he hammers his hips down into the pillow beneath him. His hands claw at the sheets as he rises up for a second and then slams back down. 

Sylvain pulls his finger out slowly as Dimitri lies there, trembling with aftershocks. 

He suddenly feels overwhelmingly sad. And lonely. Lonely in a way he hardly ever has before. 

Dimitri finally rolls over and Sylvian sees the mess of milky fluid he has smeared across his belly. Dimitri winces as he curls in, as if trying to hide it. 

“You’re ashamed of this,” Sylvian finally says. 

Dimitri hangs his head and doesn’t answer. 

“Yes,” he finally whispers. “Yes.” 

“I’ll go then,” Sylvain clears his throat. “Good luck tomorrow.” 

When Sylvian returns to his room, he washes his hands in the basin. He lies awake until dawn, perfectly still, watching the light from his window on the stone wall. 

***

On the evening before their army is set to march for Enbarr, Sylvain accidentally gets tipsy with the king as they wander through the ruins of the dormitories. 

“It’s probably still there,” Dimitri muses as they pass by his old dorm room. The war has made him larger, rougher, and shockingly, more assured in himself. He is no longer the boy projecting an image of confidence, strung tight enough that he had to snap. 

“What’s still there?” Sylvain asks, taking another drink from the bottle they are splitting. 

He’s changed too, probably. It’s harder to tell about himself. At the very least, he’s learned from the war. 

He’s not the same idiot kid, cocky enough to stick his hand in the fire and sick enough to watch it burn for a minute before he pulls it out. As an adult, Sylvain Gautier knows better what trouble looks like.

“That book,” Dimitri says with a faintly amused smile. “I hid it beneath a loose tile.”

Sylvain cracks up laughing. This, he thinks, is danger. 

“I was such a fool back then,” Dimitri shakes his head. 

“Because you never jacked off?” Sylvain snorts. 

“Ah, well, the more things change…” Dimitri shrugs. “I’m not sure my illness would have allowed me much respite, anyways.” 

He taps the side of his head with a pained smile. Sylvain isn’t sure what he feels about that yet. At least for now, it seems that Dimitri is making good on his word to do better. It remains to be seen if Sylvain will ever fully forget what had come before that. 

But Dimitri now? Dimitri looking at him fondly in the peace of the ruins of their old dorm? Dimitri who has finally learned to appreciate the absurdity of it all? 

Yeah, that’s trouble. 

“We might die soon,” Sylvain says slowly. He looks up at Dimitri with an unspoken question in his voice.

“We might,” Dimitri agrees. “And I confess, it sounds selfish, but there are many things I will regret.” 

“Regret?” Sylvain asks. 

“Like not trying this,” Dimitri says and leans down to press his lips to Sylvain’s. They are chapped and a little too gentle against Sylvain’s mouth, but his stomach swoops nevertheless. 

“Any other regrets?” Sylvain says hoarsely when Dimitri pulls back. 

“Quite a few,” Dimitri nods, a smile breaking across his face even through his brows are drawn and worried. “I fear I’ve done this all backwards.” 

“What do you mean?” Sylvain asks, still trying to catch his breath. “I thought this was our shameful little secret?” 

Dimitri kisses him again, very slow, very deliberate. 

“I want to do it right this time,” Dimitri says very seriously. “Sylvain, will you let me try?” 

Sylvain chuckles nervously. 

“If you want to mess around again, I guess-”

“I want more than that,” Dimitri cuts him off. He bites his lip and then seems to decide something. “I want you. I want to try being with you. In the open.” 

“Oh,” Sylvain’s eyebrows shoot up, even though he is internally panicking. “Kinky. Like in the woods, or…?” 

“You are determined to torment me,” Dimitri sighs deeply. “Sylvian, I was never ashamed of you. Never. Only with myself. You have only ever been good to me, even when I in no way deserved it.” 

Sylvain finds that he has been rendered speechless. Dimitri reaches out and twines their fingers together. It is too much. Sylvian leans in and lets Dimitri press his face into his shoulder. 

“Well now we can’t go die in a war,” Sylvian eventually manages to say with a modicum of his usual humor. “Defeats the whole purpose.” 

“Very true,” Dimitri agrees, rubbing one hand into the small of his back. 

“But, uh, that whole ‘night before the battle’ energy,” Sylvian continues and clears his throat, “might as well make the most of it, regardless.” 

“Happy to help,” Dimitri grins. 

**Author's Note:**

> title from In Praise of Shame xx


End file.
